Old Friends
by Edward Carson
Summary: Adrift in his own sea of uncertainty, Robert finds strength in offering support to Carson as they both confront the turbulence of change. A story about the long-standing friendship between my two favourite Downton men. POST-SEASON 6. One-shot.


**Old Friends**

They had all been at the breakfast table, even Cora, and that was fast becoming a regular thing. Edith was no longer there, of course, the Marchioness of Hexham now presiding over her own table. (Or possibly taking breakfast in bed in the castle in Northumbria.) But those in residence at Downton were all in their places and chatting away about the day ahead of them. Henry and Tom spoke earnestly about their new car shop. Cora and Mary were locked in an eager exchange over the baby. Every once in a while the pairings changed - Henry and Mary cooed at each other, Cora and Tom negotiated a schedule for the house's cars, Mary and Tom consulted on various aspects of the estate. And Barrow hovered at their elbows, pouring more coffee, or stood at the ready by the buffet.

In the middle of it all sat Robert, almost in silence, smiling every once in a while at a snatch of conversation, murmuring his agreement to an offhand question, but more often than not immersed in his own world. They'd had a week now without Carson and Robert missed him. There had been mornings without Carson at Downton before - when he'd had that episode of exhaustion during the war, and then his bout with the Spanish flu just after it, and, more recently, during his honeymoon week in Scarborough. But his absence on each of these occasions had been temporary and, secure in the knowledge of his imminent return, Robert had known no unease. This time it was different. This time he wasn't coming back. It wasn't that Barrow was not thorough or efficient. He was. He did everything exactly as Carson would have done it - indeed, there was a degree of eeriness to the exactness of his method. But he wasn't Carson.

It seemed that they all finished breakfast at the same time. At least, there was a flurry of movement and a sudden exodus from the room. Henry was off to the shop in York. Tom had to price some farm equipment in Ripon. Mary was going to make the rounds of the estate farms. Cora had three meetings about the hospital.

"I won't be home for lunch, darling, but I'll see you at tea," she murmured as she kissed him and then hurried out.

Mary was the last to leave. She bent over him to offer a goodbye kiss as well, not something she ordinarily did of a day. "I miss him, too," she said, and patted her father's arm, before departing.

Robert looked around the now still room where he had only Barrow for company and sighed. Damn change. Yes, there was much to be said for modern conveniences, but modern ways were decidedly less attractive. Barrow would never be his man, not as Carson had been. Barrow would never, could never be more than a man doing a job. The personal tie was gone and Robert missed the idea of it, though not as much as he missed the man himself.

With a sigh, he tossed his napkin on the table and moved to get up. In an instant Barrow was at his side, pulling back the chair.

"Thank you," Robert said absently, glancing at the butler. It seemed that Barrow was making an effort.

The announcement that Barrow would be stepping into Carson's shoes had gone down better than expected downstairs. Carson's departure was much lamented. The affections of every member of staff were apparent. This did not surprise Robert in the least. He knew Carson to be an adroit manager and a kind man whose even-handed treatment of those under his command fostered an abiding loyalty. Carson, Robert mused, would have made a good soldier, as many of his forebears had. But Robert was a little taken aback that Barrow's appointment had met with general approbation. He'd had the distinct impression - for years - that Barrow was unpopular below stairs, and the incident last year had only confirmed that. But perhaps it had been his redemption also.

As Robert strode into the Great Hall, Tiaa came bounding toward him and he stooped to wrestle with her a bit. He was the centre of _her_ world, at any rate. He'd reconciled himself to Cora's hospital work. No, it was more than that. He was pleased by and proud of her for it. Her sense of self worth had climbed these past few months, not least, he understood, because she had triumphed so completely over his mother. But everyone took satisfaction from a job well done and Cora deserved no less. If this left him with hours to fill, then that was his challenge.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

The pup almost turned a cartwheel in her enthusiasm. He had said the magic word. Robert slipped the lead on and found his coat - what with only one footman now, there was hardly ever anyone in attendance in the hall - and stepped out into the brisk but not harsh air of a rare sunny winter day.

There was little snow on the ground and none on the gravel paths. Tiaa danced along at his side, occasionally venturing to the end of the lead and tugging him. He drew her back gently, told her to heel, and fed her a treat - shavings of the chicken they'd had for dinner last night.

He'd had no agenda when he set out, intending to enjoy the fine day and the company of his dog and the views of his estate - all things that had always brought him great pleasure. And yet fifteen minutes later he found himself at the row of estate cottages trying to remember which one the Carsons occupied. There was no one about to tell him. His ignorance reminded him that he had never visited them. Well. He was about to rectify that. By process of elimination he narrowed it to two and, deciding that it did not matter if he was wrong, he picked one and rapped on the door with his walking stick.

He'd made the right choice. After a minute the door swung open to reveal Carson in the most informal clothing Robert had ever seen him in - an ordinary shirt and trousers. Accustomed to the magisterial presence Carson cut in formal attire, Robert was momentarily speechless. Carson looked like an ordinary bloke.

Carson was almost as effectively struck dumb by the unexpected appearance of Lord Grantham at his doorstep, but managed to gasp, "My lord!"

Robert found his tongue. "May I come in, Carson?

Carson moved to one side and ushered in the lord of the manor and his dog.

"I'm sorry to intrude on you without notice, Carson, but I was walking this way and thought I'd look in."

"Not at all, my lord. Please." Carson led the way into the sitting room.

Robert realized that he hadn't set foot in any of the estate cottages since Matthew had undertaken to repair and update them all, and that was before the war. How could he have been so remiss with this aspect of the estate?

The sitting room was small by Downton standards, of course, but this one was bright and cheerful and well-appointed. It struck Robert that the room reflected Carson's influence more than his wife's. Mrs. Hughes had such a practical bent that any room she inhabited must reflect function above all else. This was a comfortable place, however, and Robert knew that Carson enjoyed his comforts.

"It's only just occurred to me that I've never been here," Robert said. "I apologize for that."

"There was no need, my lord," Carson said hastily, looking a trifle agitated and glancing apprehensively about the room, as if looking for something that might be out of place. "We saw each other morning, noon, and night at the Abbey. I'm sorry to appear so casual, my lord, but..."

"You are at leisure in your own home, Carson," Robert chided him gently, with a disarming smile.

"May I offer you something, my lord? A cup of tea, perhaps?"

Robert shook his head. "Thank you, no. I've just had breakfast."

"And how are things at Downton?"

It was a simple question, and between any other two people it would have been accepted as a social convention, lightly asked, lightly answered, and then forgotten. Between these two men, however, it was fraught with emotional overtones.

Robert raised his hands slightly and then let them fall again. "Well enough," he admitted. "I've no complaints." They were both speaking, however obliquely, of Barrow. "But I've no superlatives either."

"You will in time," Carson said generously. "It takes a while to learn the nuances of the job that add that subtle layer of substance."

This elicited a smile from Robert. "I was spoiled by you, Carson. You'd been the butler for...what? seven? eight? years when I succeeded my father? I am accustomed to perfection."

"Five years, my lord," Carson corrected him mildly, but he smiled, too, at the praise. "And I'd had an exceptional apprenticeship. Would you care to sit down?" Carson had never entertained His Lordship before and wasn't sure of the protocol. Could he sit in His Lordship's presence in his own home?

Robert sidestepped this quandary. "No, thank you, Carson. I was only wondering if you would like to go for a walk. It's cool, but clear. I fancied some company. Your company, really. If you're not otherwise engaged."

There was no evidence of activity having been interrupted, not in this room at least. It was neat as a pin. Perhaps that was Carson's work. He was always so meticulous. But then, Mrs. Hughes was the professional housekeeper.

Carson was looking at him a little hesitantly. "I would enjoy that," he said cautiously. "If you're sure."

Robert raised his arms again. "I'm here."

They set out, the dog gambolling happily between them. Their conversation flowed easily. Carson was only a week past his last full day at Downton and was, no doubt, kept right up to date by his wife on the goings-on there. But Robert brought knowledge of his own corner of that world and Carson was interested in it all. They had much to discuss.

They did _not_ discuss how Carson had been keeping himself busy, or if, indeed, he had been busy at all. Robert thought it better not to ask, feeling he might tread on sensitive territory - Carson staring at the walls of his cottage and fretting in enforced inactivity. Robert could only address the situation indirectly. As they turned for home after a good hour's walk, Robert made his best effort to do so.

"You'll get through this, Carson." They had not spoken of the reason for Carson's retirement in some weeks.

A small sigh escaped the older man. "Begging your pardon, my lord, but _getting through_ something suggests that it is a temporary issue. My condition is permanent and may be degenerative. I won't _get through_ it. I must just learn to live with it."

"Of course," Robert conceded. "It was a poor choice of words. I meant, rather, that you will grapple with this challenge as successfully as you have all the adversities of your life. If the problem itself will not go away, neither will it master you. You _will_ learn to live with it."

There was a chord of command in Robert's voice. He was willing Carson to confidence, bolstering his capacity to meet his difficulties by telling him he _would_ do so and brooking no compromise. They had not been soldiers together, he and Carson, as he had been with Bates. But the relationship between lord and butler was not wholly unlike that between officer and soldier. The same techniques of leadership applied, and where there was, as in this case, true allegiance, they had a similar effect. Carson stood taller under such words.

As they turned into the cottage lane, Robert nodded determinedly and then turned to face the other man.

"I wanted to apologize, Carson, for leaping on the solution of Barrow without properly consulting you. I should have done so. I acted in haste in large measure because of what you said when you first spoke of your...ailment. That you could not continue to play a part at Downton, nor even remain on the estate with another butler in residence. I understood your reasoning - that most men in that position could not tolerate such oversight. But it...well, it frightened me, Carson. You've shared my burdens and my joys at Downton all my adult life." He paused and then added, "I didn't want to lose you."

When he spoke from the heart, Robert Crawley spoke simply and without affectation. He also met directly the gaze of the person to whom he spoke so feelingly in such moment, as he did now.

Carson, who wore his heart on his sleeve and had known no greater allegiance in his life than to the man before him, responded as he always did in heightened emotional circumstances. His jaw clenched in a firm and forbidding line in a determined effort to keep the tears that filled his eyes at bay. He could say nothing in the moment. He could only stare back at the man beside him through a veil of tears.

Robert wasn't finished yet.

"We've both been betrayed by our bodies, Carson. You by this...palsy, me by my ulcer, though mine was largely self-inflicted. These developments have, nevertheless, left us both in the same place. Ever since my ulcer burst, Lady Mary has assumed the day to day management of the estate. Of course she consults me on the major questions and I'm always able to put my oar in, but the torch has passed for me in the same way you've relinquished your duties to Barrow. We are, Carson, once more on the same page in our lives."

Carson had taken a deep breath and managed to gain some measure of control over his feelings. "I hadn't thought of it that way, my lord."

"Well, do," Robert suggested. "I hope I may continue to count on your support, Carson. It has been one of the anchors of my life."

With great effort and a rather necessary clearing of throat, Carson suppressed another wave of feeling. He drew himself up to his full height and resolutely met Robert's gaze. "You may always count on my support, my lord."

Robert smiled a little and then moved on, with Carson at his side. "Then we'll be all right, Carson. We'll both be all right."


End file.
